Killigrew’s Run

by Jonathan Lunn

  Thornton nodded. ‘So, what’s your plan for getting past the chain cable at Vitsand Sound?’

  ‘It’ll still be dark when we get there. With any luck we’ll catch the battery napping. All we have to do is send a boat ashore to break the cable on the south side of the channel, and we can sail straight through.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on our catching the gunners napping. I’ll wager the Russians will have sent someone ahead to alert them.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to worry about that when the time comes.’

  Thornton did not look reassured.

  ‘I’m going below,’ Killigrew told her. ‘Keep her on this heading for as long as you can, until we’re in danger of running aground on the far side of the inlet. Then put her about on to a southerly heading.’ The inlet was over a mile wide opposite Ekenäs. Sailing close-hauled, the schooner was making about a knot and a half: Killigrew reckoned he had a good half an hour before they had to tack.

  He made his way below and found Lord Bullivant in the saloon, helping himself to his own brandy. Molineaux had left Pechorin seated on the deck, his hands tied behind his back and his ankles bound.

  ‘What the devil do you want?’ the viscount asked Killigrew testily.

  ‘I need to take a look at the charts.’

  ‘Try the chart-room.’ Bullivant gestured towards the door with his brandy balloon, spilling some of the liquor on the rug. ‘Fifth door on the left.’

  Killigrew left the saloon and made his way for’ard. He was about to enter the chart-room when Araminta emerged from one of the staterooms. Seeing him, she followed him into the chart-room, closing the door behind her.

  ‘I think you owe me an explanation,’ she said.

  ‘As to what?’

  ‘As to why you broke off our engagement. At least, I assume you broke it off. You never had the decency to tell me about it: the first I heard of it was when Papa showed me an article in the newspaper, in which your name was listed as one of the officers sailing with Sir Edward Belcher’s expedition to the Arctic. What happened? Did you get cold feet?’

  He grinned. ‘Only when my sealskin boots wore out.’

  She scowled. ‘You never could be serious for five minutes at a time. After all the things that we said and did together, I would have thought I deserved better than your flippant remarks.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, truly.’

  ‘Was it something I did? Or did Papa try to pay you off?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘And what price did he put on me?’

  ‘Two hundred pounds.’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘More than a year’s salary for me, at the time.’

  ‘I see. And when you said you loved me, I was foolish enough to believe it. I had no notion you could be bought so cheaply.’

  ‘I hope I can’t. I turned him down. That was a couple of months before I left.’

  ‘Then why did you leave? I dare say I’m not the first woman who’s ever been jilted, but am I the first who drove a man as far as the Arctic to get away from me?’

  ‘It had nothing to do with you. To tell the truth, I never thought you’d go through with the marriage… or that you’d be able to cope on a lieutenant’s half-pay for an income.’

  ‘But we talked about this. I said I loved you, didn’t I? I can only suppose that, having had your wicked way with me, you lost all interest in me.’

  ‘That’s what I wanted you to think.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do either.’ He grimaced. ‘Miss Maltravers… may I still call you Araminta?’

  ‘You used to call me Minty.’

  ‘Araminta… Minty… all my life I wanted to go on an Arctic exploring expedition. I applied to sail with Franklin, but I was turned down. When Captain Pettifer offered me a berth on the Venturer, I could hardly say no.’

  ‘You might have told me. I would have waited. Or we could have brought the wedding forward.’

  ‘I thought you’d say something like that. Which is why I didn’t discuss it with you.’

  ‘Thank you very much! I thought I told you I was fed up with men making all my decisions for me?’

  ‘It was for your own good, Minty. Arctic expeditions can be dangerous; the fate of Franklin and his men proves that, and I learned for myself the hard way. Even before I left, I had some inkling I might never return. In that event, I didn’t want to make you a widow.’

  ‘Didn’t I get a say in the matter?’

  ‘I was afraid you’d talk me out of going on the expedition. I just thought it was best to break it off. I couldn’t see any future for us.’

  ‘You might at least have given me an explanation, instead of simply disappearing from my life.’

  ‘I thought it would be easier for you if you could bring yourself to hate me. Treating you shamefully seemed the simplest way to do that.’

  Her face softened. ‘That’s sweet. Incredibly foolish, but sweet. Do you know what I think?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I think you were afraid.’

  ‘Afraid? Of what?’

  ‘Of letting a woman get close to you. The great Kit Killigrew: fearless fighting pirates, slavers and polar bears, passionate seducer of helpless young females—’

  ‘Whatever else you were, you were never helpless.’

  ‘But when it comes to more tender feelings? Why do all men find it so difficult to say those three little words? Was there someone before me, perhaps? Someone who made you reluctant to risk having your heart broken a second time?’

  ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

  ‘Ah! So there was someone. Don’t you understand? I would never have broken your heart.

  ‘The woman I once lost would never have broken my heart, if it had been up to her. But that’s all in the past.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you get in touch with me when you returned?’

  ‘Lord Hartcliffe told me that Lord Dallaway was courting you; I thought it was for the best. Besides, I’d… um… acquired someone else by then.’

  She stared at him. ‘In the Arctic?’

  He nodded.

  ‘You mean, you jilted me for an Esquimaux squaw?’ she exclaimed indignantly.

  ‘She wasn’t an Esquimaux squaw, she was the widow of a whaling captain. Surely you read about my adventures in the newspapers?’

  ‘I couldn’t bring myself to. Every time I saw your name in print, I just felt my hatred of you well up inside me. What about this whaling captain’s widow? Is she waiting for you back in England, or have you married her already?’

  Killigrew shook his head. ‘We broke it off.’

  ‘You mean, you jilted her too?’

  ‘No, she jilted me, if you must know.’

  ‘Good for her. No more than you deserve.’

  He nodded, smiling ruefully. ‘I found myself caught between two women, and ended up with neither. So you see, if I wronged you, then I’ve suffered for it.’

  ‘Perhaps, but not nearly enough,’ she assured him. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Now I’ve got to get us safely back to the fleet, otherwise none of us will have any future.’

  She took his hand and intertwined her fingers with his. ‘A future together?’

  ‘You mean, you’d still marry me?’

  She regarded him with mock-sternness. ‘I don’t think I should let you off the hook that easily, Kit. Not after the shameful way you’ve treated me. No, I mean to make you suffer, first. You’ve got a lot of work to do if you’re going to regain my trust.’

  ‘If you want someone you can put through hoops, might I suggest a performing dog?’

  ‘That’s not such a bad notion. At least dogs are loyal.’

  ‘Touché. If I get you and your family back to safety, will that convince you?’

  ‘It would be a good start. But you’ve got to do it, first.’

  ‘I’m working on it,’ he told he
r, and added: ‘Trust me.’

  ‘This from the man who ran away to the Arctic rather than marry me!’ Shaking her head, she slipped out of the chart-room.

  Grinning idiotically, he turned his attention to the chart lockers. When he opened them, the smile quickly faded from his face.

  The lockers were all empty.

  He emerged from the chart-room to meet Lord Bullivant coming from the direction of the saloon, with a brandy balloon in one hand and a full bottle in the other.

  ‘The Russians have taken the charts,’ Killigrew said heavily.

  ‘Damme! The light-fingered devils! I’ll have something to say to Lord Aberdeen about this, I can tell you.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure that with Britain at war with Russia, the theft of your charts is really going to exercise him.’

  ‘Impertinent young—’

  ‘Pup?’ suggested Killigrew.

  ‘Yes, blast your eyes! By God, you go too far! When we get out of this, I’ll see to it you never get another posting in the navy for as long as you live.’

  ‘If I might remind you, my lord: we’re three miles up a channel with a chain barrier ahead of us and a Russian paddle-sloop behind, with no charts and a drugged pilot. If by some miracle we can get out of this alive, perhaps then I’ll worry about how you’re going to ruin my career. But in the meantime, I’m more concerned about what we’re going to do when we reach Vitsand Sound.’

  ‘This is all your fault! If we’d stayed at the castle and left this mess to the diplomats to sort out—’

  ‘We’d all be dead,’ Killigrew finished for him.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! What could the Russians possibly gain from my death, except to create an international scandal that would turn the opinion of the world against them?’ Bullivant stepped into the master stateroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Killigrew rubbed his jaw. He had to admit to himself, Bullivant had a point: it would have made far more sense to exchange the Bullivants and their crew along with Killigrew and his men at the first opportunity, instead of secretly murdering them. Unless there was some other reason Nekrasoff wanted Bullivant dead, something he had not revealed during the interrogation at the castle. Lord Bullivant himself must know; but Killigrew was in no mood to ask him, not now. It would have to wait.

  * * *

  Molineaux was nothing if not thorough. ‘Leave no stone unturned,’ his mentor had always taught him when training him to burgle houses back in London when he had been a child. ‘You don’t walk through the front door just because it’s open; there’s probably a better way, if only you look for it.’ Words of wisdom, and over the intervening years Molineaux had learned that the principles could be applied to endeavours other than burglary. So once he had gathered up all the muskets and made his inventory of the ammunition, he proceeded to search the Milenion from stem to stern, deck by deck.

  He was in Bullivant’s day-room, making a tally of the shotguns in the gun rack there and checking the drawers for cartridges. Evidently his lordship had been intent on doing some hunting while he was in the Baltic; doubtless it had never occurred to him that he might end up being the one who was hunted.

  Someone knocked on the open door behind Molineaux. He turned and saw Miss Maltravers standing there.

  ‘Hullo, miss. No need to knock: I reckon you’ve as much right to be in here as I have.’

  ‘Actually, I wanted a word with you.’

  ‘With me?’

  She nodded. ‘About Mr Killigrew. You’re pretty close to him, aren’t you?’

  ‘You could say that. Mr K’s got some fancy Latin phrase for it…’

  ‘“Amicus usque ad aras”?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘A friend as far as the altars,’ she explained. ‘No impropriety.’

  Molineaux grinned. ‘He’s not my type.’

  ‘Does he confide in you?’

  ‘Sometimes. As much as he confides in anyone, I reckon. You’re wondering why he jilted you, I s’pose?’

  ‘You always were an impertinent rogue, Mr Molineaux,’ she said with a smile.

  He grinned. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So why did he jilt me?’

  ‘He never said. But I reckon I can guess.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s a bloody fool, miss, if you’ll pardon my French.’

  She thought about it, and nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Molineaux.’

  ‘Any time.’

  She withdrew, leaving him to continue his search for arms. Having finished in the day-room, he moved on to the next cabin aft and knocked on the door. Hearing an indistinct grunt from within, he took it to be an invitation to enter.

  Lord Bullivant sat on the edge of the bunk while the maid stood facing him, her bodice open, so he could nuzzle her breasts. The maid did not look as if she was enjoying it much, and Bullivant did not look as though he cared much how she felt about it. The dressmaker’s dummy that occupied one corner of the cabin looked indifferent.

  You had to admire the British aristocracy, Molineaux thought ironically. There they were, trapped in Russian territorial waters with a steam-sloop in pursuit, and Lord Bullivant was more interested in exploring the contents of his maid’s bodice. Probably he was too stupid to realise how much danger they were in; and from the flushed look on his face and the smell of brandy-breath in the air, Molineaux guessed that drink had played its part in marring his far-from-perfect judgement.

  The viscount realised he was being watched, and glared at Molineaux. ‘Well?’ he demanded. Molineaux had to admit, you could not beat the British aristocracy for sheer imperturbability. ‘What do you want?’

  The petty officer grinned. ‘I wouldn’t say no to some of what you’re getting.’

  ‘You black devil!’ Bullivant snatched a hairbrush off the dresser and threw it at Molineaux’s head. The petty officer quickly slammed the door and heard the brush bang against the inside.

  Chuckling to himself, he turned away and found himself facing Lady Bullivant.

  ‘Lady B! Your husband’s just… er… um…’

  She smiled thinly. ‘I’m well aware of what my husband is doing, Mr Molineaux. It’s nothing new, I can assure you.’

  ‘And it don’t bother you?’

  ‘Frankly, Mr Molineaux, I was never more grateful than the day my husband decided he was less interested in me than he was in the servants.’ Smiling regally, she glided on down the passageway, leaving the petty officer staring after her in frank admiration.

  When she was out of sight, he turned away and continued down to the saloon. Opening the drawers listlessly, he studied the sterling-silver cutlery, even taking out a carving knife to admire it… much use it would be against a paddle-sloop!

  ‘Helping yourself to the silver?’ asked Pechorin.

  Molineaux waved the knife in front of the count’s face before returning it to the drawer. ‘I’ll help myself to your nutmegs if you don’t stow it, cully.’

  Leaving Pechorin with a slightly bewildered expression on his face, Molineaux began to search the staterooms. The count’s blonde lady friend was still trussed up where he had left her on the bunk in Lord Bullivant’s stateroom; there was nothing in there that might be any use as a weapon. The same was true of the next stateroom, where Lady Bullivant sat reading a Bible beside the bunk in which Dick Searle lay sleeping.

  ‘Yes?’ Lady Bullivant asked, looking up, when Molineaux thrust his head through the door.

  ‘Beg pardon, ma’am. I’m looking for anything we can use as a weapon.’

  ‘Hatpin?’

  ‘I was looking for something a bit more substantial than that.’

  Lieutenant Dahlstedt was fast asleep in the bunk in the next stateroom, while Miss Maltravers dozed in a chair beside him. Molineaux eased the door shut and retreated. The next door on that side of the passage was the maid’s cabin; the steward’s storeroom on the other side from the stairs leading up to the after hatch was more promising: he found two crates of bottles
of lamp-oil.

  He made his way forward. The next compartment had been converted into a dark room for developing photographic plates: Molineaux was familiar with the paraphernalia of calotypography, for when he had been an able seaman on board HMS Tisiphone, Mr Strachan had frequently converted the sick-berth into a dark room to pursue his own interests in that sphere, when it was not required for the purpose for which it was intended. There were a couple of cameras and different tripods, a crate containing unused glass plates packed in straw, developing trays on a work bench, and racks containing bottles of chemicals. Molineaux read the labels: Canada balsam, collodion, gallic acid, hyposulphite of soda, oil of vitriol, potassium iodide, pyrogallic acid, silver chloride, silver nitrate, sodium chloride solution, and spirits of nitre.

  The stateroom opposite belonged to Lord Dallaway; nothing of interest there.

  More cabins, the chart-room, then the forecastle with the galley amidships. The galley boasted a huge cast-iron cooking range, and pots and pans of every description. A large medicine chest had been taken out and left open on one of the workbenches. Bandages, scissors, bottles of pills and bottles of lotions and medicines, including – Molineaux noticed with a wry grimace at the illustration on the label – Trubshaw’s Cordial.

  He made his way up through the forward hatch to report to Killigrew on the quarterdeck. ‘You sent me to see if I could find anything we could use as a weapon, sir?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Four double-barrelled barking irons in Lord Bullivant’s day-room, with plenty of cartridges; thirty-two bottles of lamp-oil in the steward’s stores… if we stuff rags in their mouths and set fire to them, they’ll make good fire bombs. Oh, and there are about a dozen different kinds of acid in the dark room.’

  ‘The dark room?’

  ‘Yur. Someone on board must be into photography in a big way. Dunno how we can use the acid, though. I suppose it would be too much to hope it might dissolve the Atalanta, although we might throw it in the Ivans’ phizogs to put out their glims. Have to get close, though.’

  ‘Is that the best you could do?’ the commander asked in a disappointed tone.

  Molineaux bridled somewhat. ‘Did you expect me to find a ten-inch long gun, sir?’